


Distraction

by SingingShantiesAllTheWay



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Bullying, Consensual, Ear Piercings, Implied/Referenced Classism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Violence, Male Slash, Multi, Needles, Past Violence, Piercings, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingShantiesAllTheWay/pseuds/SingingShantiesAllTheWay
Summary: Wilde has drunkenly decided he wants an ear piercing. Zolf and Grizzop both have them, why shouldn't he?Apparently it's not that easy.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakyuu_yarou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/gifts).



> Content Warning: A limited, second-hand depiction of homophobic language, classism, and violence. Although the depiction is quite brief and not incredibly detailed, I know these are triggers for a lot of people, so erred on the side of caution and tagged for them as clearly as I could. To clarify: none of these things occur on-screen, as it were. The events are mentioned by a character, relaying something that happened quite a long time ago. It is clear what is happening, but it is _not_ exceptionally prolonged or descriptive.
> 
> Further note: I took liberties with Wilde's background and strayed from the historical Oscar Wilde more than a little bit. Because RQ's Wilde is a very different animal and I'm pretty sure he likes people taking liberties. ;)

"Stop fidgeting." Zolf's voice was an exasperated growl, one Wilde knew well, and indeed took frequent delight in being the cause of it. Tonight, though, it was a rasp against the nervous pitch of apprehension. The dwarf's strong hands held his face, tipping Wilde's head to the side. Nearby, Grizzop stood with his arms folded, one foot tapping irritably. "Just sit still, you giant infant, and get it over with." Wilde could see the sharp edge of Grizzop’s grin at the periphery of his vision, and the gleam of a long, slender needle between his fingers.

"Forgive me," he muttered drily, "if I mislike sharp things aimed near my face."

“Whatever,” Grizzop barked, entirely too cheerfully. “Coward. Hold still.”

Grizzop was a blur in Wilde’s peripheral vision and he couldn’t help it: despite Zolf’s viselike grip, he jerked his head to the side before Grizzop could get the needle through his ear.

Zolf and Grizzop swore in unison. Any other time, Wilde would have been impressed.

“Do y’want the damn earring or not?” Zolf snapped, and reached for his head again. Wilde shook off Zolf’s hands and got to his feet, and agitatedly paced to the other side of the room.

“Yes!” Wilde muttered, although he couldn’t quite remember _why_ he wanted the thing. There had been alcohol involved, he knew. The remnants of it were still fuzzy in his system.

A vague impression bubbled up: Grizzop and Zolf comparing piercings, trading stories about how they’d come by them. Grizzop had explained the meaning behind each one - milestone markers, he’d said. Some from his clutch, some more… personal. Zolf had recounted the bet he’d lost that earned his first one. They’d laughed together, happy in that commonality.

Wilde frowned, prowling back to where Zolf and Grizzop stood. Had he been- had he been _jealous_? Of his two- well. Whatever they all were to each other.

He _had_.

What he’d been, Wilde reflected in his fading alcoholic haze, was an _idiot_.

Ignoring his companions’ quizzical expressions, Wilde passed between them and slumped back into his chair.

“Yes,” he repeated more quietly. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his forehead in his hand in a flawless affectation of a suffering _artiste_ . If only it had been intentional, he’d have been proud of it. “Yes, I want it.” _I want this stupid thing, this monumentally inconsequential, unimportant thing that is a thing you share that I do not have but it’s too close to-_

Out of long habit, Wilde cut that train of thought off at the knees. 

Then-

...then.

Maybe it was the alcohol, enough of it still sloshing around in his system to let Wilde make swift and stupid decisions. Maybe he was just sick of assiduously avoiding that memory but being always aware of it lurking like some eldritch horror in the fogged recesses of his mind. Maybe somewhere along the way he’d actually stopped caring and hadn’t noticed until now.

Whatever the impetus, Wilde abruptly decided to this time just stare the damn thing down.

“Yes. I want it,” he said again. “But first, let me tell you a story.”

Grizzop looked narrow-eyed up at Zolf, who shrugged. _Indulge the idiot_ , the gesture said.

“Fine,” said Grizzop, and crossed his arms. “Make it quick, we don’t have all night. Plans to make, _things to do_.”

Wilde snorted. “It’s a brief story,” he assured him. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Once upon a time,” Wilde began, “there was a boy. He was comely and clever, and his family were respectable enough but they weren’t _wealthy_ , and that made all the difference to the other boys at his school.”

Grizzop shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot, but Zolf’s hand dropped to his shoulder in silent admonition. Grizzop sighed loudly but subsided.

Wilde didn’t shift from his half-reclining pose, but lifted his eyes to the nearby pair. His voice, when he continued, took on a lilting, singsong quality. This was a _story_ after all. Above all other things, a bard’s magic found its root and foundation in stories.

“They made the boy’s life unpleasant, but he quickly learned how to make his words sharp, how to aim them for the tenderest places, and in that way he managed to hold his own. And that wasn’t ideal, but neither was it intolerable.

“But… a day came when mere witty riposte wasn’t enough. One afternoon, as the boy was walking from a lecture back to his dormitory, the worst of those privileged sons of the empire cornered him in an out-of-the-way courtyard, where nobody else could see or hear what they did. They were going to teach him, they said, what happened to cocky little ladyboys who pretended they belonged with the upper classes. They were going to teach him to respect his betters, and to know his _place_.”

Zolf let out a quiet breath through his nose, a sound Wilde knew was the first indication of his temper rising. Grizzop, on the other hand, was actively vibrating with indignation and second-hand rage. Wilde’s smile to them was dry and sardonic and it did not reach his eyes.

“Those bullies were, as I am sure you are unsurprised to learn, larger than the boy, and it was no difficult thing for two of them to hold him down on the flagstones - one on his legs, one holding his head turned quite cruelly to the side. The third sat on his chest, the boy’s arms pinned underneath his back, and he held out a knife where the boy could see it.

“‘Don’t worry,’ that pillar of society told him. ‘It’s nice and sharp, see? It’ll heal up cleanly.’ And while the boy struggled, the lord’s son put his hand over his mouth, to keep him silent and hold him still, and he slid the knife behind the boy’s ear to slice it off.”

The angry breath had tapered away. Zolf instead looked stricken, a world of horror and pity reflected on his honest face, and Wilde felt a pang of regret for relating this event to his companions. The dwarf’s heart was too compassionate by half, and this had clearly wounded him.

Grizzop, however, was audibly snarling. Zolf gripped him by the collar to prevent him from- what? Vibrating hard enough, perhaps, to actually blur out of the visible spectrum? To generate enough kinetic energy that he could teleport to Britain, maybe, and bring delayed justice to a group of Berties long since ascended to adult peerage? If righteous fury could reach across time and continents, there would be corpses on the floor in the House of Lords.

Wilde sat up and waved a hand dismissively.

“It has a happy ending,” he assured them, “don’t worry. Because when the knife bit his skin, the boy bit his attacker, hard enough to make him jerk backward. And this meant his mouth was uncovered, and the boy… the boy spat a few words. _Sharper_ words than he’d said before, the words he’d been learning in secret, that shaped the world around them and possessed the power to _really_ cut. And the bigger, wealthier boys left that courtyard just as bloody as our hero. Who, I am pleased to note, kept his ear, which is quite a relief, as it would have _ruined_ his exquisite aesthetic to lose it.”

The grin this time was something approaching genuine, and Wilde turned his head to the side, tilted his chin upward, and arranged himself on the chair _just so_. If there was a little bit of glamour employed, a fine layer of delicate magic to enhance his allure, well… Who could blame him? And Wilde felt a hint of desperation to assuage the sting of his unanticipated confession.

“So… forgive me,” he repeated, “if I mislike sharp things aimed near my face.”

Zolf let go of Grizzop and stomped over to the chair. Gently- so gently- he tipped Wilde’s head just a little bit, just enough that the lamplight brightened the space behind the bard’s ear to let him see the evidence of a fine scar. That ignorant twat all those years ago had been right, Wilde thought, holding utterly still to let Zolf see for himself. It _had_ healed up well.

Grizzop had appeared, in the meantime, directly in front of him. When Zolf let go of his head, Wilde looked down to see Grizzop’s bright red eyes narrowed, peering up at him now not in anger, but suspicious concern. Wilde couldn’t help a pained laugh, and leaned down to press a kiss to Grizzop’s brow, which was as he expected immediately wiped away. Ew. Affection.

“D’you still want the earring?” Grizzop asked. “If you don’t, well. Yeah.” 

Wilde thought a moment.

“Yes,” he finally decided, and meant it. “I do.”

The goblin grinned.

“Then,” he said decisively, “what you need is a _distraction_.”

“Gimme the needle,” Zolf said. He reached over Wilde’s shoulder, palm up, and Grizzop handed it over. “Pretty sure I know where you’re goin’ with this. I’ll handle the piercing part.” He patted Wilde on the shoulder. “Won’t be the first hole I’ve poked in my life.”

Wilde opened his mouth to respond- the innuendo-laden remark was already on his tongue- but Grizzop surged up onto his lap, knelt on his legs, and pressed two small fingers to his lips.

“Nope!” he said cheerfully. “No more talkin’ for you. Shut up and let’s get you poked.”

Wilde had no option but compliance, because once Grizzop decided on a course of action, no power in heaven or earth had a hope of deterring him. As though racing Zolf to see who could put holes in Wilde first, Grizzop bent to nip hard at his neck, his needle-sharp teeth brief pinpricks of heat and not-quite-pain. It was something that Grizzop had perfected over the last little while, after much experimentation to find out how much pressure Wilde liked before it was too much.

The correct amount of pressure, as it turned out, was _precisely_ the amount that he was applying now. Wilde startled at the first sharp bite and then melted into his chair. He let his head tip back, exposing the full length of his slender throat, which Grizzop took as an invitation and nipped a line of delicious heat from Wilde’s collar up to his ear.

Zolf’s hand- and indeed, Zolf himself- had disappeared, Wilde noted absently. There was, from somewhere in the room, a sudden scent of alcohol - something _strong_ , maybe the orc moonshine Azu had recently shared with them - and Wilde had a moment to wonder what he was doing before the penny dropped. Aaah yes. Cleaning the needle. Wouldn’t do to- to let it get um. Infec-

He didn’t bother to try finishing the thought. Grizzop had by now bitten his way along Wilde’s jaw, nipped his chin, and started down his neck again on the other side. Now he flicked his tongue into the delicately sensitive dip at the base of Wilde’s throat.

Wilde groaned. When had his shirt been undone? Ooh, clever goblin. Grizzop’s hands had been busy while Wilde’s attention had been fixated on the sharp teeth on his skin. The entire line of buttons was unfastened, leaving Wilde’s chest exposed.

Grizzop sat back now, still kneeling on Wilde’s thighs, his hands fisted on his own hips while he considered the languid man draped decorously underneath him. Wilde blinked at him somewhat muzzily, already half-floating in a warm haze of _wanting_. He must have made some small noise betraying this, because Grizzop snickered.

“What, you want more?” Grizzop broadly grinned at him, showing him the glint of sharp teeth, and Wilde shivered. Grizzop leaned forward again, his palms two small points of warm pressure on either side of Wilde’s chest, and growled. “What do you say?”

Wilde wasn’t so far gone, not yet, as to simply _give in_. He rolled his eyes and reached with one slim fingertip to tap Grizzop on the nose. If he was quick, he could do it without being bitten. He was, of course, rarely quick enough, and tonight was no exception. The moment his fingertip was in range, it was engulfed by a wide mouth.

Not teeth, though. Not this time. Grizzop locked eyes with Wilde, closed his mouth over the bard’s finger, and leaned slowly forward, sliding toward Wilde’s knuckles in deliberate mimicry of other, more intimate portions of his anatomy.

Wilde heard Zolf chuckling somewhere nearby but it was hard to pinpoint, with the whole of his attention suddenly narrowed to focus on the mouth snug against his knuckles, the wet, hot tongue curled around his finger, and the smug red eyes staring up at him in challenge.

This wasn’t precisely the fastest that Zolf or Grizzop either one had managed to drag Wilde from irritable to inflamed, but it had surely earned a place in the top tier. The pressure of his abrupt erection, trapped as it was beneath his clothing, further constricted Wilde’s attention to Grizzop and what was happening in his lap.

Wilde’s sudden distress had not, of course, gone unnoticed. Grizzop slid his mouth off Wilde’s finger. Wilde let his hand drop, uninterested in further pursuing the tapping of that particular nose just at present. This was probably just as well, because the nose in question had moved out of reach as Grizzop slithered backwards off Wilde’s thighs to stand on the floor between his knees.

He’d taken his sweet time to do it, too, deliberately and with malice aforethought grinding his pelvis along the firm and visible length of Wilde’s cock inside his expensive trousers.

The scent of potent liquor was stronger now, and as Grizzop’s nimble hands began unlacing the front of his trousers, Wilde felt another hand- larger, rougher, just as familiar and treasured- cup his chin and gently turn his head a little to the side.

“Take a swig o’this,” Zolf told him, grinning with shared mischief. He traced Wilde’s lower lip with the cool, slightly wet mouth of a glass bottle, the source of the boozy aroma. “A little tipple can’t hurt.”

Wilde, nearly entirely distracted now by the skittering of sharp-nailed fingertips in the general vicinity of his cock (still frustratingly constrained by fabric, what was _taking_ so long?), obediently opened his mouth to let Zolf pour a generous measure of the liquor across his tongue. He coughed - it had to be Azu’s moonshine, he’d never tasted anything else that evaporated straight into the bloodstream before he could swallow it.

Zolf laughed again and took a swig from the bottle. His voice was rough when he said, “Gotta hand it to Azu, her family makes some damn good booze.”

Wilde could not formulate any response, because a blossom of wet heat swept abruptly over his cock, now gloriously freed from his clothing. He sucked in a breath, his eyes rolling back in his head as what seemed like the rest of the blood in his body rushed to further swell his already-rigid erection.

When, a moment or two later, he had recovered enough to at least open his eyes, Wilde looked down the length of his body to see Grizzop staring defiantly back up at him. Without blinking, he opened his mouth and curled his tongue - his impossibly, _deliciously_ agile tongue - around the head of Wilde’s cock, engendering another burst of the same wet heat.

Wilde held his breath. Grizzop held his gaze. Achingly slowly, he closed his mouth again, carefully lest his teeth inadvertently catch on tender flesh. His tongue flattened against the underside of Wilde’s shaft, creating an exquisite suction, and Grizzop leaned gradually forward. Wilde watched breathlessly as his cock vanished into Grizzop’s mouth, inch by agonizing inch.

Grizzop’s hands rose to rest against Wilde’s hips, tracing with his thumbs the defined ridges of bone framing his pelvis. It was a tender gesture rather than a sensual one, even as he at last took the final inch into his mouth and something in the back of Wilde’s brain softly exploded.

Wilde let his head fall back, allowed the electric heat spiralling up from his groin carry the last of his apprehension away. He lifted a hand to trace with a single fingertip the perimeter of Grizzop’s mouth, slippery with spit, then trailed a line of wet up, over cheek, across his brow, until Wilde’s hand was resting atop Grizzop’s head. He fought down the urge to _thrust_ , to feel not just the first tantalizing hint of throat but the surrounding squeeze of Grizzop swallowing around him. The impulse was almost overwhelming, but Wilde refrained, instead allowing Grizzop to do as he pleased.

What he pleased, apparently, was to withdraw with the same intensely frustrating slowness. Grizzop breathed out through his nose as he drew back, sending cool air over the wet skin being gradually exposed, a delicious contrast to the heat of his mouth that made Wilde whimper helplessly. Generally Grizzop was not content with teasing, preferring the direct route of violently stripping his partner or partners of their clothing and tackling them to the ground (or bed, or sofa, or table, or…) but tonight, it seemed, was to be an exception to this rule.

Wilde sucked in a breath as he felt Grizzop’s tongue lap along the underside of his balls, working upward. His hand flexed atop Grizzop’s head, instinctively looking for hair to grip, to tug on; bereft of handhold, Wilde let it fall to the side. Grizzop snickered. He turned his head to unfurl a hot breath against the inside of Wilde’s thigh, then bit, and Wilde cried out at the sudden sharp spike of commingled sting and pleasure.

A pair of fingertips landed lightly across his lips, though, cutting off the cry, and Wilde’s eyes flared open, focusing with difficulty. Zolf stood beside the chair, watching with evident amusement as Grizzop teased Wilde into a breathless state of desperate arousal.

Without thinking, Wilde licked the fingers resting against his open mouth.

Zolf’s attention snapped up from Grizzp to Wilde’s face. Slyly smiling, he lifted the pair of fingers from lying across Wilde’s lips to instead slip between them.

His fingers tasted of the alcohol: smoky and antiseptic. Wilde traced them with his tongue, flicking delicately at the juncture where they met Zolf’s palm. He heard Zolf catch his breath, and then the pair of fingers pressed further, sliding back along Wilde’s tongue until they were buried in his mouth as deeply as they could go. Not quite choking, he closed his eyes with a soft moan.

Wilde felt Zolf lightly brush his thumb along his cheek as he pressed down with his fingertips at the back of his tongue. Wilde swallowed, swallowed again, and again, feeling his throat flex around Zolf’s fingertips in the same way as he’d imagined feeling Grizzop’s squeeze around his cock.

Grizzop, meanwhile, shifted his attention from Wilde’s thighs, and took him in his mouth again, an enthusiastic descent from tip to base that made Wilde groan against Zolf’s hand.

Zolf’s fingers withdrew from his mouth, and Wilde found himself momentarily bereft. He needn’t have worried. A moment or so later, there was another pressure against his lips. Wilde opened his mouth and took Zolf’s cock as eagerly as he had his fingers.

Wilde always enjoyed fellating Zolf. It was rare that Zolf participated fully in sexual pursuits, and Wilde delighted in every occasion. Zolf’s cock was exactly the perfect shape and size for Wilde to take completely into his mouth. He loved the pressure of Zolf’s glans against the back of his throat, he loved the superbly masculine scent of him, he loved the smooth sensation across his tongue each time Zolf drew his hips back then pushed forward again.

And Wilde especially loved the rough groan that immediately followed Zolf’s first deep, complete thrust. Zolf’s reaction was involuntary and always half-stifled, as though he was reluctant to reveal just how much he enjoyed Wilde’s mouth around him, and Wilde’s heart - and his groin - thrilled to it every time.

This time, when Wilde’s cock twitched with that same reaction to Zolf’s obvious pleasure, Grizzop flattened his tongue against its underside to create a seal, and _sucked._ Wilde gasped at the sudden intensity. He abandoned Zolf’s cock, throwing his head back, and he couldn’t stop himself from bucking his hips upward. Wilde felt the barrier of Grizzop’s throat press hard against his glans before Grizzop drew back to accommodate him.

Grizzop’s mouth vanished to be replaced by one hand, gliding base to tip to base, a slight twist accompanying each stroke.

“Greedy,” Grizzop said, a world of wickedness in his voice.

“Yes.” Wilde murmured the single-word affirmation, then turned his head and once more opened his mouth for Zolf’s cock, delighting at the taste of skin and salt and _Zolf_ . Grizzop’s tongue returned, licking a long line from Wilde’s asshole up over his balls to the base of his cock then back to repeat it. It sparked every nerve in Wilde’s body. He moaned and heard Zolf gasp as the thrum of his voice hummed around Zolf’s cock. The resulting thrust of Zolf’s hips went a little deeper, the head of his cock firm against the back of Wilde’s throat and he delighted in _this_ , too, the brief sensation of smothering sparking in Wilde’s brain.

Grizzop’s enthusiastic tongue was ratcheting Wilde into an ever-heightening state of desperate arousal. He could feel the wet heat of abundant saliva coating his skin; he relished the sensation of it beginning to ease slowly downward over his asshole, leaving him slick and _wanting_ . Wilde squirmed, and Grizzop abandoned his cock, instead using both hands to press firmly against his inner thighs, opening them further and leaving him more exposed to that wicked, _clever_ tongue.

Wilde groaned, guttural and deep in his throat. Zolf’s cock once more pushed against the back of his throat as though craving the low thrum of it, and Wilde’s eyes rolled back at the delectable not-quite-smothering sensation of fullness.

“Good,” Zolf murmured above him. “You’re being _so good_ for me.” He rested a hand against Wilde’s cheek, slid fingertips up over his temple and brow, combed them gently through his thick hair, lightly traced the shell of his ear. Wilde sighed happily, sending hot air skirling over the wet skin of Zolf’s cock and was gratified to feel it twitch in his mouth. 

He could feel Grizzop’s mouth moving around his cock; he was aware that there were words accompanying the movement but lost in a haze of simultaneously giving and receiving pleasure, Wilde couldn’t focus enough to discern what they were.

They sounded vaguely like… counting?

“One. Two...” Zolf’s voice, closer, unimpeded by a muffling erection, and therefore clearer, confirmed Wilde’s vague first impression.

Yes. Counting. Why were they cou-

“ _Three_.”

In that moment, Grizzop slipped a single finger inside him, buried to the knuckle and curled snugly against his prostate; he simultaneously engulfed Wilde’s straining cock with his hot, wet mouth, taking him straight down to the base, making Wilde gasp.

At the exact same time - as if this were not enough, as though he was not already screaming along a catastrophe curve of overstimulation - Wilde felt a sudden sharp pain in his ear as Zolf stabbed the needle through skin and cartilage and the melding of pain with exquisite pleasure wrapped around his brain and-

-and Wilde came immediately and crashingly undone.

For Wilde, all was silence. A sudden, swarming darkness blossomed up from his core, ecstasy devouring him from the inside out. His body bent like Grizzop’s drawn bow: his shoulders pressed tightly to the chair back, his back arched, his hands clawed at the chair’s arms, every muscle tight and thrumming.

Wilde was only vaguely aware of Grizzop between his legs, fucking him with his mouth and his hand at once. He knew only distantly that Zolf had withdrawn his cock and was kissing him with ferocious urgency. It didn’t matter that all his breath had left him and he couldn’t draw another. The entirety of Wilde’s existence narrowed to the erratic spasming of his cock in Grizzop’s mouth, the warmth of Zolf’s mouth on his, and the lingering sting in his ear.

Finally, Wilde went limp. He was fairly certain his bones were actually dissolving in the warm wash of post-orgasmic bliss, and he didn’t care. Didn’t need ‘em anyway. Right? Yeah. Who needs bones. One could probably live a perfectly satisfactory life as a puddle, and Wilde considered this an attractive prospect just at the moment.

Grizzop stood up from between his legs and came around the chair to tip Wilde’s head back and forth, examining the newly-pierced hole from every angle. Wilde magnanimously allowed this - not that he could have stopped him, in his currently liquid state - and Grizzop grunted.

“Yup,” Grizzop said, pronouncing it good. Zolf nudged him out of the way. Wilde could feel the cold slide of something metallic through the sore piercing - an earring, it occurred to him after a delay during which he focused with delight on the novel sensation.

“Here, you egregious hedonist,” Zolf said, and pressed a mirror into Wilde’s hands. “What do you think?”

Wilde lifted the mirror, managing to angle it properly after a couple of tries. His face looked sinfully relaxed (a good look for him, he’d always maintained) and Wilde winked slyly at his own reflection before Zolf sighed and reached over his shoulder to patiently turn the mirror to reflect his ear instead.

The earring was a simple one - just a slim silver hoop quite similar to Grizzop’s, and Wilde reached up to gingerly touch it. It looked strange there on his own ear, but also… right. One more point of connection with Zolf and Grizzop, of which Wilde could not, could _never_ have enough.

Thoroughly debauched, freshly perforated, Wilde let the mirror fall to his lap and smiled.


End file.
